


Thanksgiving the Morning After

by castiels_angel



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Farting, Gas - Freeform, Stuffed, belly stuffing, bellyache, bloated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:01:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24584224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castiels_angel/pseuds/castiels_angel
Kudos: 13





	Thanksgiving the Morning After

Without fail, my boyfriend always stuffed himself during Thanksgiving dinner and ended up with a raging stomachache. This year was no exception, as he devoured plate after plate of turkey, mac and cheese, stuffing, green bean casserole, sweet potatoes, and pumpkin pie.  
By 8pm, he was already complaining, as he untied the string on his basketball shorts. He burped twice and said with noticeable discomfort, “that sweet tea gave me heartburn like a mofo.”  
I knew it would be a long night/morning with the effects of bingeing running rampant on his bodily functions. I had my suspicions about IBS already, the way he spent forever in the bathroom and ran in there with such desperation at times.  
“How are you feeling?”  
The pre existing stretch marks looked darker and his stomach was ballooning onto his lap. “Everything is backed up. It feels like everything I ate is just sitting in my stomach like a rock.” As he patted his distended gut, he let out another unsettling burp.  
At midnight, he woke me up with a long fart that signaled gastric distress. I’m talking this fart literally whistled it’s way out of his asshole. “Ooohwheee,” he muttered next to me.  
I cuddled up next to him and whispered, “does your belly hurt?”  
“It’s killing me,” he whispered.  
“I’m going to rub it for you.” I placed my hand on his warm belly, softly cupping the curve of his abdomen.  
After a few minutes, he said quietly, “I might just eat three pounds of food every day if it gets you to touch my stomach like this.”  
“I just wanna make you feel better. I won’t lie though, it’s nice to touch.” I massaged circles on his gut.  
“You got me about to rip ass again,” he admitted, just the words I wanted to hear.  
“Let go,” I said to encourage him, patting his side.  
“I’m never eating that much stuffing again,” he lamented, proceeding to rip a fart that smelled awful. “I know that’s what gave me this flatulence.”  
It didn’t seem that bad to me, and I told him so. I also pointed out, “you've only farted a couple times.”  
I heard him chuckle but nothing was funny about his tone as he said, “I’m trying not to be gross, I’m holding a lot of it in.”  
“Just let it out. I don’t want your stomach to hurt more.” I was surprised that he was being shy about his farts.  
He hesitated before replying, “I’m not trying to seem even more disgusting.”  
“Look, you ate like ten plates of food. I know your stomach’s going to be fucked up. I wouldn’t expect to rub a stomach this bloated without getting at least a few toots. So just talk to me how you would the guys.”  
I knew that was the ultimate approval to freely discuss his impending bowel movement as well.  
He seemed surprised at first. But five minutes later, he murmured, “I’m going to try and sleep. But tomorrow Im going to be up early. I know I’m going to have to take a massive dump.”  
Around 7AM, I woke up with the need to pee. Mid stream, my man flung open the door with a desperate, “Ineedtousethebathroom!”  
I tried to pee faster as I saw him cradle his stomach, cramps most likely rolling through his gut. He was never very good about holding his waste once the urge hit.  
“I’m for real, I’m about to drop some logs.” I knew he wasn’t lying and quickly flushed. He immediately took over the perch on the throne, releasing a fart.  
He looked sexy, even sitting on the toilet with his legs spread, laboring to take a shit that would probably be the size of a football.  
“I know this is gonna-“ he squirmed, “Take a while.”  



End file.
